Well Met
by slothier
Summary: Boy meets girl. AU. Post-Awakening.
1. 9:32 Dragon Last Harvestmere

Well Met

9:32 Dragon Late Harvestmere

Soris had thought that his wedding clothes would be the most uncomfortable outfit he would ever have to wear. How so very wrong he was. Here, decked out in nobleman's velvet in the royal court of Ferelden, he wished for the old set of raw silk he had worn on the worst day of his life. He didn't know how Shianni did it. His sister flitted among the assembled nobles like she belonged. Looking at her, it would seem that no human had ever regarded elves as a life form somewhere between gutter rats and the actual sludge of the gutters. In fact, the looks aimed at the reason either of them were there to partake in the festivities would lead to the conclusion humans worshipped them instead.

Kallian on her part looked completely unaware of all the attention on account of her engagement in what looked like a rather tense conversation. One that featured the lady of the hour herself, the king, the queen, and the queen's father. A volatile combination in any situation, forget a gala celebrating the first anniversary of the victory at the Battle of Denerim. From what Soris could make out, the argument arose from the former general's armor. Instead of the chevalier armor the country had been led to believe was his skin, he wore a dark colored set bearing the double griffon arms of a warden commander. Kallian had told Soris that she would be officially standing down as Warden Commander that night, with the Hero of River Dane taking her place. The king apparently had not been informed, and His Majesty was not pleased with the news. Soris had to shake his head; not a week since she had returned from Amaranthine and she was already turning the world upside down again.

Shianni was a noble now. Kallian a hero. He had no such qualifications. He didn't belong. Suddenly, he felt a desperate need to escape. After a quick glance to make sure that both women were still occupied with their own business, he slipped out of the great hall. Taking in the fresh air, he felt a bit more like himself. He decides to take a stroll around the king's rose gardens. He almost screamed when he turned the corner and noticed a figure sitting on a stone bench.

"He..hello," he greeted cautiously. The last thing he needed was to invite the ire of some noble who didn't want to be disturbed. To his surprise, the other figure startled as well before turning to him. Soris sucked in a large breath of air as the moonlight illuminated the face of his companion. The lady he had stumbled upon was quite the beauty. A human, but a beauty nonetheless. He actually preferred human women, but he had never told anyone aside from Alarith out of fear of Shianni's disapproval. Then he was married and it didn't matter anyways. And he would always be an elf and maybe that mattered more than anything else.

"Oh, I did not realize anyone else was there. I was merely taking break; stopping to smell the roses at it were," her voice was deeper than he would have expected from the lady's delicate frame.

"They are rather beautiful, are they not?" he had no idea what to say. He had neither Shianni's bravado nor Kallian's silver tongue.

"Indeed, and a good deal easier on the eyes than that horrid cacophony of colors that those fools in the great hall call fashion," Soris was made painfully aware of his own deep green ensemble that on it's own was rather subdued, but had had a rather unfortunate effect when juxtaposed to the bright red and yellows favored by much of the human nobility. He remanded silent. The lady continued, "Not that I helped. Only the Maker knows how awful my green dress looked against all those red gowns. It was like Satinalia!"

"I think green is a good color," smooth Soris, he thought to himself. Perhaps there was a bucket nearby he could drown himself in without anyone noticing.

"Thank you, kind ser. I am sorry you had to listen to me ramble about something as inconsequential as the coloring of my gown. I must sound like Habren right now," the lady sighed, "I supposed I am discontent because of the reason I am at court at all."

"Which would be?"

"Husband hunting. My brother insists that since the war is very much over, I should turn my attention to finding a proper match to continue the family line. I know my duty, but it feels all too soon."

"Did, did you loose someone during the war?" Valora's face rose unbidden in his mind.

"Not a lover or husband, if that is what you are suggesting," the lady's tone suddenly gained an edge. Soris recognized it from the few times he had been unfortunate enough to be in hearing distance of an argument between the king and his cousin. The arguments that tended to feature words such as "traitor", "king killer", "witch", and "baby" and often were only ended with intervention of the queen.

"I meant no offense my lady. I…that is, my wife…" Maker, this was hard. Why was he sharing this with some noblewoman who wouldn't care less about his story, even if she didn't know he was an elf? Still he felt like he should do something to rectify the situation. She did look so very sad. Not a lover, but perhaps someone else important. Kallian had told him many nobles lost their lives at Ostagar alongside the former king. "My wife died during the…the civil war, well, disappeared, but after a year of looking for her with the best informants money can buy, what else can one assume?" Kallian had tried her hardest once things had settled down to find missing elves. By the time the archdemon laid dead, the trail had long gone cold. Soris had felt terrible for being so relieved by Valora's absence initially. He had no wish to be married to her, but he would have given anything to save her from the fate that befell her. Where had the courage of his wedding day gone when the so called healers invaded the alienage? He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice that the lady was talking again.

"Oh, my sincere apologies. I should not have…I am sorry. Some days I forget that almost everyone has lost someone dear in the war. Brother always said I was too inconsiderate of others."

"There is no need to worry. Like your brother said, the war is over. My cousin likes to tell me that life moves on and we with it regardless of our readiness."

"Wise words," she sighed and worried the hems of her sleeve. "I should take heed and plunge back into the fray. Will you escort me back?" Soris offered his arm and was surprised by the strength in the grip that took it. "Thank you Ser…oh, I never asked for your name did I?" He wondered if she realized that he was elf now that they were on equal footing. Even with her slight frame, she was a good hand span taller than him. If she noticed, she made no comment.

"It's Soris my lady. Just plain Soris."

"Well, just plain Soris, it has been a pleasure. I am Elissa Cousland. Well met." They walked back arm in arm.

A/N: Bioware owns Dragon Age. Unbetaed, please notify me of any errors. Did anyone else think that he could have married non-warden cousland after reading Soris' epilogue slide? Next chapter, the city elf plot bunny that actually started the mess. A nug in the Deep Roads twitches it's snout and the world changes.


	2. 9:33 Dragon Early Justinian

Well Met

9:33 Early Justinian

Nelaros breathed out a sigh of relief as he dropped the last of the nails into the bucket to cool. There had been an emergency order from the Teryn for an inordinate amount of nails and his father had everyone in the smithy drop everything to make nails. Being the youngest, and thus afforded flights of fancy, Nelaros had spent the past few years focusing on weapon smithing. The return to such menial work was unpleasant, but he was a loyal son and made no complaint. His eldest brother had no such restraint. At breakfast Neifion had complained loudly that he dreamed he was making nails in his sleep just as their father came in. Father just laughed and replied that it shame he couldn't actually make nails in his sleep otherwise they could leave all the work up to him. Father's good humor hadn't saved Neifion from being rapped sharply on the head by Neisiara.

It was odd to think that three years ago, he should have left all this behind. The family had fallen on hard times and there was talk of seeking a dowry from Denerim. At the time, all but Neifion were still unmarried. Neisiara and Nelaros were the natural choices as Neisiara could sell crafts anywhere and Nelaros was a bit of a loose end in a smithy with three smiths aside form him. Upon being informed he had an appointment with the matchmaker, Nehefin, the hellion middle child, had run off and joined the town guard. For such a wild child, his roots ran deep. His younger twin sister, Nehaf, was father's favorite. Although she was Neifion's junior in smithing, and a woman besides, she was set to inherit the smithy and thus not on the table for shipping off to Denerim.

In the end, there had only been a daughter to be matched with. All the right letters had been sent, a large bag of silver was deposited in the family coffers, and Nelaros packed up his belongings in preparation for starting life over in Denerim. Then a large portion of the main road leading to and from Highever became impassable. There had been some sort of structural collapse in the Deep Road tunnels underneath, and all caravans were cut off for almost a month. It would have been foolish for a lone elf to attempt to make the trip by foot, so he stayed home and waited for the road to be repaired. Before he could set out again, they received word from Denerim that his betrothed had died tragically. The family was told to keep the dowery money and forget the arrangement. Then there was no further word. Nelaros had even painstakingly gathered all the loose scraps of gold from Nehef's workbench to forge a wedding ring for his future bride. All for naught. He still kept it in his pocket, though he didn't know what for. As he was still young, there was no rush for him to marry now that the economic pressures to do so were gone. The dowry money had seen them through the blight and now with Teryn Fergus devoted to rebuilding Highever, work was plentiful. On his part, Nelaros had yet to meet a girl who took his breath away in Highever, and he wouldn't be making arrangements with the matchmakers from Denerim until someone else in the family thought it necessary.

Sometimes he wondered what his betrothed would have been like. As the family receiving the dowery, which is to say, the beggars in the equation, they were only given minimal information about the other party. She was young, unusually so, only seventeen summers. The matchmaker did disclose that she was the only child of an elderly father who wanted to see his little girl set up before he returned to the Maker's side. The matchmaker had praised the girl to the sky without really giving any details. It as probably for the best. Better that he didn't know enough to be able to create a dead betrothed that was enough of a person to be missed.

He was interrupted from his pondering by a knock. He looked up to see an unfamiliar young woman leaning against the stable door. An elven girl, but not one he knew. Dark skin, Tevinter perhaps? He hoped she wasn't; the last thing the elves in Highever need were slave traders or run away slaves being chased down by slave traders.

"May I help you?" he asked cautiously. Did she even speak common? The young woman cocked her head, as if she had to consider carefully her words. After a rather long pause, she nodded and spoke.

"My name is Kallian Tabris. A pleasure to meet you. Where does the hahren of your alienage reside?" her voice was soft and her precise pronunciation complimented her formality. Her tongue carried the lilt of Denerim nobility. Not a Tevinter in any case. Perhaps she was a lady-in-waiting to some noble. She looked a bit young, and far too rough for such work though. With the sun behind her, he could see the outlines of her well built arms through the white linen of her sleeves. Whatever her trade, it was a physically demanding one. Perhaps she had traveled here as someone's bride to be. Though he hadn't heard anything about pending nuptials. Then again, with all the uproar over the last elven wedding, maybe some of the less colorful gossip had slipped through the cracks. He glanced around the smithy to make sure there wasn't some last minute job he had overlooked before he took off his apron and walked over to the girl.

"I'm Nelaros. Work's done for the day, so I'll walk you there myself." She graced him with a gentle smile and the shrug of her shoulder as she turned clearly said "lead on." They had passed by a dozen houses before he broke the silence.

"I'm a smith, but you already knew that. It's the family business. I've lived in Highever my whole life, only been out of the alienage a handful times. Almost went to Denerim back before the Blight, but that didn't work out. Not a very interesting story. So what brings you to Highever?"

"I'm visiting my cousin. He married a while back and I haven't had the chance to give him my congratulations. I also have much belated wedding gifts," she patted the bulky sack on her hip. Interesting, so she had a relative in the alienage here, and, apparently, a good deal of loose coin. Travel itself was expensive for an elf, to do so out of desire and not necessity was a luxury few of their kind had. He tried to figure out whose cousin she was, but, to be honest, in the last five years there had been a number of imports from Denerim and elsewhere. More than a good handful with red hair and none with dark skin. So, still a mystery. The rest of the way, Kallian asked the typical questions about Highever and the alienage, and soon enough they were at the hahren's door and he still didn't know anything about her beyond her name and that she had a cousin in Highever. He forgot even to ask where she hailed from. He knocked on the door for her and opened it for her when a voice called out for them to come in. She thanked him with a nod and entered. He trailed in after her.

Hahren Sarethen, son the famed Sarethia of old, sat at his desk, books and scrolls littered everywhere. He was his mother's son and was currently working on a modern history of City Elves. He had flagged for several years on the tail of purges in Denerim and stagnating conditions in Highever, but the news of the Hero of Ferelden had rekindled the old flame and now he only emerged from his paper when alienage matter demanded he do so. They even had a visit from the famed shemlen scholar, Brother Genitivi a while back.

"Nelaros. Good to see you lad. And who is this?"

"Kallian Tabris. I believe you received a letter a while back from Bann Shianni about my arrival?" There was a twinkle in her eyes as she bowed deeply to the hahren. Nelaros though he saw a flash of shock on the hahren's face but a second glance revealed nothing but the usual pensive look, so he wrote it off as a figment of his imagination.

"Ah, yes. Nelaros, thank you for escorting her to me. Wish your parents and siblings well for me," Nelaros knew a dismissal when he heard one. As he turned to leave he caught Kallian flashing him a brilliant smile in thanks. He walked home, intrigued by the mystery of this new arrival. For one she wasn't from Highever, that already made her more exotic than anyone Nelaros knew personally. She was clearly had money and influence, things doubly rare with elves. Who was she? Well, he would find out soon enough. His mother always said that the winds of gossip alone could hold up the walls of the alienage against any storm.

. . .

Elissa Tabris had seen a lot of odd things in her life, but the sight of the Hero of Ferelden kneeling before her humble doorstop holding out a crown and an uncomfortably familiar axe had to top the list. She knew in her mind that the Hero was her husband's cousin. But since the wayward Tabris wonder child was always running around Ferelden, they had never really gotten to know one another. She had only seen her from the other side of the great hall on formal occasions. By the time she and Soris had been close enough to visit his family, Kallian had been off on another one of her adventures. Elissa expected her to be bulkier all things considered.

"Pardon?"

"Wedding gifts. My deepest apologies for their late delivery."

"Oh, thank you," she took the offerings and wrapped them back up. To be honest they made her uneasy, "Would you like to come in, there's some left over stew," she walked in and gestured for the smaller woman to follow. Kallian curtsied and stepped into the small house. Elissa looked at her curious expression as she looked around the well furnished, but small wooden house and explained.

"I'm sure you heard about the…trouble that came after the wedding. I lived here after…after my father and brother left for Ostagar. I got by doing odd jobs. After the war ended, going back to the Castle, well, I just couldn't do it. Even after Fergus returned, I stayed here when we were in Highever when Court was out of season. So when we decided to leave Denerim, it was only natural that we came back here," as she talked she moved around, setting the table and putting the iron pot back on the fire. She moved with the confidence of an animal in familiar territory. The preparations made, she sat down opposite her guest.

"So, may I ask why these particular gifts?" she waved her hand toward the bundle on the table. They were clearly valuable, but things were rarely that simple. She had seen that ax somewhere, she knew it.

"It's Howe Rendon's ax and the crown of Teryn Loghain. I gained both during the landsmeet during the Blight and as I cannot give you their heads for one reason or another, I figured these would do in their stead," Kallian gave her a crooked smile, "I specialize in slaughtering Arls of Denerim it seems."

Elissa felt her blood stop in her veins. With shaking hands, she uncovered the ax. There it was, the Howe crest, engraved in the ax head. She ran her fingers over the blade. This blade had…she shut her eyes. This blade had taken a part in her parents' deaths. She had seen the thing on the traitor's back that very night. Her father told her that Howe had fought the rebellion with the weapon and never parted with it. Thomas had once remarked to her that his father even kept it in arms reach when he bathed. Her ill fated almost fiancee had found that out the hard way when he had stumbled into the baths drunk and almost lost of limb at his father's hands. She hadn't loved or even liked him, but she had resigned herself to marrying him and it always made her a little sad that even he had been a victim to Rendon's ambition. A useless drunkard, but he deserved better than to die in an insignificant skirmish in the civil war. Cut down, not by darkspawn, but by his own countrymen.

She had not wanted to escape that night. She had wanted to stand her ground and rip out Howe's treacherous throat with her bare hands. Failing that, she wanted to die with her parents. But her mother had entrusted her to elven servants that bodily dragged her out of the estate through the pantry exit and hid her in the alienage while the castle burned and then was taken over by Howe's men. One of the servants had married into a large smithing family and she spent her time helping out in the house while living in the attic. Then after the battle of Ostagar, the civil war broke out and Howe's men mostly moved out for the battlefields in the Bannorn. Some had been left to hold the castle, but the threat faded. As few of the Arl's men actually knew her by sight and none in Highever would betray her, it was decided that it was safe for Elissa to go out into the town. She took odd jobs from the Chantry and soon was able to rent her own room in a modest wooden house near the alienage. She lived a humble life during the Blight. For so many months she was just Elissa, a pretty girl who knew how to use a blade and bow. A pretty girl that woke screaming every night from nightmares of betrayal and dreamed only of revenge. Then there was the Landsmeet and she received the news that Howe had been found dead, slaughtered along with all his men in his own estate by the Grey Warden.

The nightmares stopped. She had nothing left to dream of. There was nothing left to live for, so she just. stopped.

By the time Fergus came back to Highever, she was sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Every stick of furniture in the place had been destroyed twice over. She had taken to living off of stale bread and scraps, and hadn't left her room except when starvation forced her out to the market. She must have looked a fright, pale and wan, when Fergus and his men broke down her door. She had thought she finally gone mad when she heard her brother's voice form the other side of the door she hadn't opened for a week.

She was startled out of her memories by the sudden realization that Kallian was no longer seated opposite her at the table. A quick glance showed her cousin in law standing at the fire, mixing the contents of the pot with an almost ferociously determined look on her face.

"Oh, I didn't mean for you to…" Elissa hurriedly grabbed the spoon out of Kallian's hand. After ascertaining that the stew was steaming and bubbling, she grabbed a rag and pulled the pot off the fire. She cleared her throat and attempted to explain as she busied her hands with the act of serving a bowl of stew. "It's just that, that ax, it brought back… a lot of memories Most of them unpleasant." Soris had once said that Kallian had a certain way about her, she made you want to talk to her, spill your darkest secrets. And even she was tempted. Tempted to pour her heart out, air out wounds that she hadn't ever shared with anyone. Not Soris. Not Fergus. Not even herself. But this was the woman's first day at Highever. She could at least wait until the next morning. She couldn't very well have her cousin running around fixing her problems before her husband at least got the chance the catch up with their guest.

"I'm sure you've heard that I'm a Cousland. The closest I ever got to a kitchen fire before marrying your cousin was to get my malbari out of the pantry. Soris tries to teach me, but he's still doing most of the work around the house to be honest. It's disgraceful, I know." She was surprised at the blank look on Kallian face. The other woman shrugged.

"I don't see why you're ashamed. I don't cook or clean either. Father always did that, even before I was a Warden. He did all the housework even when mother was alive. Soris knows how to cook because my father taught him. He tried to teach Shianni, but she didn't take to it." If she didn't know better, she would have sworn the Hero of Ferlden was pouting. "He never even let me near the fire. Said my face would be ruined by jumping oil or a leaping ember or some nonsense." There wasn't a scar, blemish, freckle or wrinkle on Kallian's tan skin. The bright red hair run through with golden streaks that had gained her the nickname of "Andrastre's flame" was swept to the side to a messy bun. An exotic specimen then. She had met another elf in the Denerim, the shop keeper, who also had light hair and dark skin. Hadn't Kallian's mother been of foreign blood? Sitting by Soris' side she had been party to a great deal of gossip about the Tabris family from the other elves in the alienage, if privy to scant information straight from the horses' mouthes as it were.

"On the road Allistair did most of that work, I think everyone complained about his cooking at one point or another, but no one else volunteered to do it. I did manage to get Morrigan to share her dinner with me on several occasions, but she was adamant about it being a special favor to me and that she would never do it for the party at large. 'Especially not for that fool Allistair." Kallian said the last sentence such an exaggerated air that Elissa couldn't help but laugh. Did Witches of the Wild really talk like that? Kallian smiled and, at Elissa's instance, told stories about her travels during the Blight until Soris came home. Then there was hugging and back slapping, another mug of ale poured and then the two cousins spent the rest of the night trying to out embarrass each other with stories of their youthful escapades with only ground of agreement between the two being that everything was always Shianni's fault.

When the morning star was high in the sky, Kallian made movements to excuse herself,

"I've made arrangements for other lodgings, but I'll see you lovebirds soon enough."

"Why not stay? There's room enough and spare mattresses."

"You are too kind, dear Elissa, but these arrangements include other people I would rather not keep waiting."

"What she means is that she's meeting with shady, renegade mages, or shady, renegade assassins." Kallian laughs.

"You know me all too well, Cousin. Adieu!" and before Elissa could make another protest, Kallian was out the door, melting into the shadows of the streets. Elissa blinked a few times before she regained her composure and set to clearing off the table. Soris was still seated when she got back, a pensive look on his face. She slid into his lap and intertwined their fingers.

"What's the matter? I thought having her here would make you happy. She accepts us at least," Soris kissed her brow.

"No, it's not that. It's always good to see Kallian. She is my favorite cousin." He jostled playfully her when she retorted that Kallian was his only cousin. But his voice was serious when he spoke again, "where Kallian goes, a river of blood follows. Even when she's not thinking of anything but picking flowers, trouble finds her. Or she finds it. The girl couldn't walk past a hornet's nest without giving into the urge to rap it with a stick. But the thing is, even though she really does care about family, she wouldn't come all the way out here just to visit the two of us. There's something happening. I just don't want to be caught up in it. I don't want you caught up in it," and she can see it in his eyes, clear as day, 'I don't want you to get hurt.'

"I can defend myself, you know."

"Oh, I don't doubt it, if Duncan had come to the alienage in Highever and recruited you instead, I'm sure you'd be the Hero of Ferelden, slayer of archdemons, loved and feared by all. Maybe you'd even be queen. All hail her Majesty Elissa Cousland Theirin, Queen of Ferelden, Teyrna of Highever and Arlessa of Amaranthine!" She giggles.

"Nah, I think I'll take being just plain Elissa Tabris, proud defender, wife," she guided their interlinked hands over her abdomen, over the slight, but present bump, "and mother. Let's leave the legends to the history books shall we?" Her giggle turns into a moan as he nips at her neck and holds her closer.

"I like the way you think, milady."

. . .

Notes: Yeah, the original plot bunny was "what if Nelaros never made it to the wedding?" So he's alive, in Highever. Then I needed a reason to have the Warden go to Highever. Cue Soris' epilogue slide and a few too many nonwardenF!Cousland fics and bam. This mess was born.

I hated how non-party member romances were fail!tastic no matter who you were. They either died, got married, never liked you, ran for the hills, or went crazy. What? Lame. The world does not start and stop with Alistair people (who is fail!tastic in most of his own endings anyways).


End file.
